


you are here

by mariya



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariya/pseuds/mariya
Summary: From Beijing to Chengdu, Soonyoung comes to terms with his sexuality.





	you are here

Summer in Beijing is actively trying to kill him. 

“You’re being dramatic,” Minghao says. He steadies the wheel with one hand and uses the other to spread water over his chapped lips. The harsh sunlight glints off his rings.

Beijing is sharp all over. The light, the streets, the sound. Soonyoung tries to focus on the road out of Beijing, but the entire city is gridlocked, traffic hour is every hour. He dials up the AC to the highest setting and leans forward to bathe his face in the cool air, the sweat drying along his hairline. If he doesn’t die from sweating out his entire body’s salt content, he’ll die from heatstroke.

The car in the lane over swerves in front of their car and cuts them off. Simultaneously, Minghao slams his foot on the break and his hand on the horn, and Soonyoung’s face slams into the dashboard.

Their car jerks back into place among the line of idling cars. Minghao sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

Soonyoung lets his face cook on the dashboard. Truth is, it isn’t much hotter in Korea. His bad mood is just crossing national boundaries, and in twelve hours it’ll cross from May to June.

“I’m okay,” he says, unpeeling his face from the dashboard. “You got any music in here?”

“Help yourself.” Minghao gestures to the center console.

Soonyoung flips open the cover and takes out a handful of CDs. He doesn’t need to know how to read Chinese to know every single one is a folk song artist. The album covers are all photos of nature, and if not nature then a headshot of a middle-aged musician looking off into the distance. He raises an eyebrow as he sorts through the disks.

“Don’t you have any pop?”

“Yeah, I got Andrea Bocelli and…” Minghao turns on the stereo and switches to CD two.  Righteous flutes parade for two bars, swelling into trumpets and strings, before a woman’s voice peels sweetly through the heat. “Dong Wenhua.”

Soonyoung unbuckles his seatbelt and pretends to open the door and jump out. Minghao helpfully unlocks the doors for him. “Hey,” Soonyoung says. “At least try to stop me. What are you gonna do if hyung dies?”

“You wouldn’t have died. We’re going an inch an hour, you would’ve been slowly crushed at best.”

“Wow, hyung loves you too.” Soonyoung sneaks a glance at Minghao. He’s smiling big. He can’t remember the last time Minghao smiled so open and loose. The tension in his chest loosens with every inch he pulls his seatbelt across his chest. “Are we gonna listen to this the entire trip?”

Minghao doesn’t respond. He merely increases the volume and lowers the bass until Soonyoung can feel it vibrating through his ass. He tries not to throw up as he texts Hansol through the jerking traffic: _MH killing me, send playlist ASAP._

Hansol texts back, _kekeke, pls leave me ur headphones_ , and then doesn’t send over his travel playlist.

It takes the entirety of Dong Wenhua’s greatest hits for them to reach the outskirts of Beijing where the traffic clears and Minghao fucking books it down the highway to Baoding. He turns off the AC and rolls down the windows, turning up the music as loud as it will go and sings along at the top of his lungs.

“Can I change my mind about this trip?” Soonyoung shouts above the hot wind blasting him in the face.

Minghao hears him, Soonyoung knows he does, but he shouts back, “The Great Wall was made for Dong Wenhua.”

“Are you—are you seriously telling me the Great Wall didn’t exist before her?”

“That’s right. The CCP hauled ass and built it the moment she came out with her greatest hit, the Long Great Wall. Don’t you think you should thank me for getting some culture in you?”

They pass by a tour bus full of grandparents who wave at them. Soonyoung waves back shyly as he remembers the time Minghao was tricked into using abalone as currency on Yeoseodo. He didn’t think it was very funny when it aired.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung says sincerely. “It must’ve taken so much work.”

“I mean only ten miles of it is presentable, so.” Minghao peaces. “It’s all about strategy.”

Halfway to Baoding, they pull over at a convenience store. Soonyoung shells out sixty renminbi for an aux cord. The owner chats him up regardless of his rudimentary Mandarin, she holds him up for ten minutes until Minghao comes to save him, laying down a pile of snacks and drinks on the counter. He calls her _a yi_ until she tells him she isn’t so young anymore.

“You’re sixty-five?” he says in awe. “You can’t tell.”

“Ah, you really know how to talk.”

Minghao grins sheepishly at her. 

Later, as they get back on the road and the sun blazes across the sky, Soonyoung jams the aux cord into the radio output and feedback crackles through the speakers.

“No SHINee—” Just as Minghao says it, Key’s voice drowns him out. He groans, “This is why I didn’t want an aux cord.”

Soonyoung starts headbanging. He does it for ten seconds and taps out for the next hour, nauseated out of his mind.

Minghao must think he’s asleep; he turns off the music and drives in silence. He’s handsome as hell on a regular day, but driving? He’s a total heartbreaker. Drives with one hand and wears orange sunglasses that don’t do shit to block out the sun, but Soonyoung’s always been a fan of colored lenses. He likes being able to see Minghao’s eyes. For whatever reason, Minghao in dark shades unnerves him, but it isn’t like he’s any less transparent without opaque sunglasses. Most of the time, he’s just unreadable.

Soonyoung shifts in his seat just thinking about it, discomfort rising inside him. He didn’t use to be unreadable.

The harsh afternoon light crosses Minghao’s face. He feels it on his own face, warming him to the core. They haven’t shared this kind of peaceful silence together in a while. Silence with Minghao is usually scathing these days. Without meaning to, Soonyoung gradually falls asleep while watching the light on Minghao’s face shift angles and grow softer.

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo facetimes them the moment they settle in for the night in Yangquan. The screen is a blur of beige before he comes into frame. It’s one am in Yangquan, not even close to afternoon in California, and Jisoo’s still jetlagged, parked at an In-N-Out booth and blowing up the group chat. Minghao is the only one who responds.

Jisoo blinks groggily at them. “I’m dying.” 

“You look like it,” Minghao says, lying in bed under the dim lights, hair damp from the shower. It’s nice to see him like this in just a T-shirt and hoodie, barefoot walking around the hotel room. Minghao who wears fashion like armor.

On another day, Soonyoung would have questioned crawling into bed next to him. It’s a bad idea, given the tension of the past two months, but yesterday they flew into Beijing after an endless schedule, and today the exhaustion catches up to him. All his lizard brain sees is a space warmed with fatigue and Minghao, and of course, that’s where he belongs. He settles in beside Minghao and beams at Jisoo.

“Hyung, how’s California?”

“Other than the jetlag? I’m doing _amazing._ I had In-N-Out for four days straight.” Jisoo waves a cheeseburger at them and carefully tears the paper out of the way before biting into it. It feels like they can hear the squelch in surround sound.

Soonyoung feels a little sick just watching him. When they all went to California, Jisoo subjected them to three days of In-N-Out. He can practically recall the smell of the food. It lingered on his hands for hours even after washing with soap.

“Does your mom know you’re killing yourself?” Minghao asks, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“No, and if you tell her, I’m not gonna be the one who dies.”

Soonyoung cracks up. Like this, he can almost pretend nothing’s wrong between the two of them, but when he curls an arm around Minghao’s shoulders, the spell breaks. Minghao stiffens and pulls away.

Jisoo narrows his eyes and says nothing. “How’s China? Is Soonyoung a good stand-in for Junhui?”

Minghao shrugs.

Jisoo laughs. “Soonyoung, leave this ingrate. Come stay with me instead.”

Soonyoung shoves his eye at the camera and fills up half the screen. He pushes away the part of him that is hurt. “Really? Will you pay for my flight?”

“Never mind, you can’t come. Hyung has no money.”

Soonyoung takes it as an exit and pouts, rolling out of Minghao’s bed and crawling into his own. He dives completely into the cool blankets, a soothing balm against his burns, and pretends he’s asleep as he listens to Jisoo and Minghao talk. They don’t talk for long, and after Minghao hangs up, he doesn’t tell Soonyoung to brush his teeth like usual, he quietly turns off the lamps and returns to bed.

 

 

 

 

 

A week ago, Junhui’s family canceled their trip to Canada at the last minute. He decided to go back to Shenzhen instead of kicking feet with Minghao all the way to Chengdu. It took some convincing; Junhui felt guilty as hell, but ultimately, he could see Minghao whenever he wanted, and not his family. 

Half the members already left for home, the other half were preparing to leave. Seungchol was leaving that day for an early train to Daegu when he woke Soonyoung up, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Junhui’s going home to Shenzhen, Minghao’s on his own.”

Soonyoung tried to open his eyes, they were crusted shut. “Okay?”

“It’d be a waste if he goes alone since he planned the trip for two, so he’s looking for someone to go with him. You’re the only one who isn’t going home.”

That does the trick. Soonyoung sat up straight. “Are you telling me to go with him?”

“Of course, I’m not telling you to go with him. I’m just saying if you want to go with him, the option’s there. Maybe this trip is what you need to set things right with him.”

“We get along just fine, hyung.”

Seungchol raised an eyebrow at him.

Maybe Minghao avoided staying in a space with just Soonyoung, but technically there was nothing to fix. They got along fine in the practice room. Minghao got him water, made him pots of tea, and yet Soonyoung still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. That this version of Minghao was watered down and partially false.

He pat Soonyoung’s leg beneath the blanket. “I know you’re more perceptive than that. If you think distance is what you need, then that’s that. But if a trip is it, this is your chance and you should take it.”

“I’m not gonna force Minghao to sit in a car with me for, what, forty hours?”

Seungchol grinned as he stood up to leave. “Oh yeah, that’s a real punishment. You better spare him then.”

 

 

 

 

 

They wake up early, check out of their hotel, and go out onto the street searching for food. They find a street vendor selling porridge and fried dough sticks. Minghao leans over to tell him the literal translation of the dough sticks is oil fried ghost, but all Soonyoung can focus on is the proximity of him, the warm smell of _jjuk,_ and Minghao’s perfume, clean and fresh on him, exactly like the freshly cut rose it mimics. 

Out of all the members, Minghao’s the only one who consistently wears perfume. He’s mindful of Soonyoung’s sensitive nose and wears light rollerball fragrances. Soonyoung feels stupid to forget such thoughtfulness, but then again Minghao’s perfume is only noticeable when he leans in, and this is the closest they’ve been in two months.

Soonyoung shoves the dough into his mouth, chewing frantically. Minghao judges him. “You’re supposed to dip it in the _jjuk._ ”

“I know,” Soonyoung says, still chewing. “It tastes good like this too, leave me alone.”

“If you say so.”

They head toward the lotus gardens while they eat. In the morning, it’s cold enough for a jacket, but once the sun breaks the clouds, the cement warms up fast. The buildings aren’t tall enough to block out the heat. Minghao sheds his jacket and ties it around his waist. He’s been wearing tank tops all summer. In a fit of ill-advised spontaneity, he converted half of his shirts into tank tops.

Soonyoung digs his nails into the styrofoam bowl. “Hey, uh. Sorry Junhui couldn’t come on this trip with you.”

“I don’t mind, he should be with family.”

Silence lapses between them. The silence they share feels a lot more significant than it used to, but probably only to Soonyoung. “You know I’m happy to be here with you, right?”

From this angle, he can only see the side of Minghao’s face. He’s narrowing his eyes at the path in front of them, like he’s inspecting something. “Yes, I know.”

Soonyoung scratches his elbow, the hope dying in his chest. He laughs weakly. “Aren’t you gonna tell me you’re happy I’m here?”

“I’m happy you’re here." 

There’s nothing in Minghao’s face that tells Soonyoung he’s lying, but something’s wrong, and his palms immediately begin sweating. “Bold move, flirting with me in broad daylight.”

Incredulously, Minghao says, “You told me to say it.”

Soonyoung shrugs with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “You should take responsibility for your actions, Myungho.”

Minghao doesn’t take the bait. It’s the only way he engages these days. Today, he walks away silently and leaves Soonyoung to catch up to him as he walks briskly across the bridge arching over the lotus gardens. Turtles bob along the calm water surface, blinking slowly at the noise marching over the bridge.

“Hold on,” Soonyoung says, slightly bowing his head to an elderly man and allowing him to pass first on the narrow bridge. “You’re walking so fast.”

Minghao doesn’t stop walking until the bridge leads him into a pavilion with only one exit and nowhere to escape. He turns around and faces Soonyoung completely. The pavilion shade offers no respite from the heat; if anything, under here, cocooned in the humidity of Yangquan and the heat of Minghao’s judgement, Soonyoung feels he may burst into flames.

“You say that a lot,” he says. “You say, _you’re flirting with me,_ or, _you’re in love with me,_ but are you really okay with what it means?”

Soonyoung unconsciously swallows. Minghao’s eyes flick down, then up. “What do you mean?” 

“You can joke about it because you’re not gay, there are no consequences for you. But for some people it’s serious. Would you really be okay if a man had feelings for you?”

“I wasn’t joking,” Soonyoung says defensively, but as the words leave his mouth, he knows he was. “Or—I wasn’t thinking about what it could mean.”

“You should. Don’t flirt with me unless you mean it.”

Red-hot annoyance spikes through Soonyoung’s belly. He furrows his brows, can feel the sweat dripping down his temple. “What are you so worked up about? It’s not like you’re gay.”

Minghao goes dead cold. “Better rethink that logic, hyung.”

Before Soonyoung can respond, a cheery alarm cuts him off, and Minghao flips his phone over in his hand and turns it off. “The parking meter’s about to run out, we better go.”

It’s the most infuriating fucking thing, but even he knows when to drop it. They silently walk back to the car, Soonyoung trailing behind Minghao. He doesn’t even have it in him to look at Minghao’s back, it annoys him too goddamn much. He plugs in his earphones and settles back in the passenger seat. 

Yangquan recedes into the distance and the mountains of central China rise all around them, receiving them into the land. Soonyoung keeps his sunglasses on and his eyes glued outside the passenger window, unwilling to look at Minghao. The more time they spend together, the less he understands him.

When Minghao started getting distant, Soonyoung thought stupidly, foolishly, that it had been a matter of language, and there was no way of fully understanding Minghao unless he knew Mandarin. Junhui told him once, a couple drinks in, that Minghao was much sincerer in Korean than he was in Mandarin, and Soonyoung, unsure of what to do with the information, thought it hadn’t mattered at the time.

It still doesn’t matter now. Knowing Minghao in two languages is a matter of degree. He’d know Minghao better culturally, but maybe not his thoughts any better. As long as they communicate, there’s no way they couldn’t know each other, and that’s the problem. They never talk anymore. 

They drive well into the afternoon without speaking. Minghao is the first to break it.

“Hyung, are you awake?”

Soonyoung pretends to be asleep, but even through his music he can hear Minghao turn on his signal, and his stupid Balenciaga shell jacket rustle as he glances at his blind spot and takes the exit toward a rest stop. He leaves the car running and gets out without locking the doors, and for a second Soonyoung seriously thinks Minghao’s leaving the car unattended, but when he cracks open an eye, he sees Minghao’s back pressed against the driver window, head thrown back toward the sun.

Ten minutes pass, and he gets back into the car. Soonyoung fidgets in his seat.

“I’m really sorry,” he says softly, the confession bursting out of him. He takes off his sunglasses. “I shouldn’t have been so defensive when you told me I said something that bothered you, that was awful of me—and when I tried to question your anger, I know my logic made no sense. I didn’t mean it. I was annoyed but that doesn’t mean I can be cruel.”

“I’m sorry too. There was a better way to tell you I was bothered.” Minghao pauses, furrowing his brows. “But I meant everything I said.”

“I understand.” Soonyoung holds out his hand. “Are we good?”

Minghao quietly takes his hand, shaking once before letting go.

 

 

 

 

 

They duck into a hotpot restaurant for dinner even with the temperatures reaching Martian. Minghao hides his hair under a hat, but the back of his hair is too long to hide. It curls around the nape of his neck. They rack up a steep three-digit bill from all the _baijiu_ he drinks, and the bastard isn’t even red yet. Soonyoung only has four cups and already his head feels like its full of cotton. Obviously, this is the optimal state of mind to play two truths one lie.

“I shit naked, the last time I peed myself was when I was fifteen, I think you have a great sense of style.”

Minghao bursts out laughing. “The first one is true.”

“What?” Soonyoung squawks. “You don’t know that.”

“And peeing yourself at fifteen sounds like something you’d do—honestly, if you said it happened yesterday I’d still believe it. Do you really think I have bad taste?”

Soonyoung avoids the question and downs a cup of _baijiu_.

“You know what? Call Jisoo-hyung, tell him I’m bankrolling your flight to LA.”

“You’re gonna get rid of me? After I shared my beloved SHINee playlist with you?"

Minghao laughs. “ _Especially_ because you shared it with me." 

“Hey,” Soonyoung says, pointing his chopsticks at Minghao who bats them away with his own. “You just made a powerful enemy. Sleep with one eye open tonight.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand Korean,” Minghao says in perfect Korean. “And it’s my turn.”

The statements get wilder and wilder, or Soonyoung’s getting drunker by the minute. It’s definitely the latter. Before he knows it, he’s on this side of drunk and they’re back at the hotel room. He sprawls out on the bed and mashes his face into the pillow, groaning pathetically.

“If I leave you alone for ten minutes, can I count on you staying alive?” Minghao says.

“Absolutely not,” Soonyoung says, voice muffled. “Don’t leave.”

"I'm just going to shower."

Soonyoung gives him the thumbs up, but seconds pass and he doesn’t hear Minghao move. Curious, he peeks out from the pillow and sees Minghao’s back turned toward him, attention on his phone. 

He places his phone on the bed and begins to undress. He pulls his tank top off, the fabric sliding up the delicate taper of his waist like the grand unveiling of the world’s eighth wonder. Next, the jewelry comes off one by one. The muscles in his back shift as he removes his necklaces and places them on the table. He twists each ring off, unclasps his bracelets and watch, and removes the backings on his earrings.

And then, one last piece of steel. Minghao pops the button on his jeans and pulls down the zipper tab tooth by tooth. Soonyoung squirms, cock filling up with just the implication of it.

Minghao slides his jeans off completely and closes the bathroom door behind him.

Drunk out of his rational mind, Soonyoung thinks, _am I really gonna waste a perfectly good boner_ before deciding _fuck no_ and diving beneath the blankets. He grinds slow against his hand just as Minghao turns on the shower. His bird brain takes it as an invitation to groan loud and open-mouthed.

Soonyoung gets so horny whenever he drinks. It’s an inconvenience, really, but it takes something to switch it on. It’s not a problem when he’s with friends. He doesn’t want to fuck his friends. 

He spits in his palm and gets a hand around his cock, jerking off slow and lazy. The alcohol pressurizes his head like a steam cooker and the blanket is hot and humid, but cocooned like this, he feels safe to think of whatever he wants. The fine ass woman who heads Pledis’ accounting department and would never give him the light of day, the barista with gorgeous curves who always sizes up his order free of charge—he imagines an amalgam of all the intimidating women in his life. He imagines hair he can glide his hands through, wet lips working the head of his cock, a cleavage deep enough to drown in.

And through it all, through all of the faceless women flickering through his mind, he imagines the elegant curve of Minghao’s back.

Soonyoung bites his lip hard. He slowly strokes his cock from root to tip. He thinks—he thinks of Minghao’s skin and his tan lines growing more distinct as the summer drags on, the sweat drying salty on his skin. Salvia gathers beneath Soonyoung’s tongue. Unconsciously, he squeezes his thighs together at the thought of tasting the salt on Minghao’s skin.

He gasps pathetically. Maybe they can kiss too, that’s totally an option. Minghao doesn’t half-ass anything, he’d kiss him sweet and deep, one hand gently cupped around the back of his head, the other working beneath his shirt. Minghao would walk him up against the wall, both hands on Soonyoung’s hips, thumbs massaging the dip of his hips before palming his cock and giving him something to rut up against. Minghao is as generous a lover as he is a friend, Soonyoung knows he is.

He squeezes the base of his cock just before he can cum, gasping low and wet. He sucks the precum off his fingers one by one, then stuffs two fingers into his mouth. Just as his orgasm recedes and he starts working his cock again, the water pipes squeak shut and the shower door creaks open.

Soonyoung’s pulse pounds as he curls into himself. He shimmies his sweats back up to his hips and flips his dick up into the waistband, smearing precum against his stomach.

Minghao comes out of the bathroom, humming. “Hyung?”

Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut. His whole body is red from the alcohol, Minghao couldn’t differentiate between an alcohol and a sex flush, but he still pretends he’s asleep.

He can hear Minghao’s footsteps pad closer, stopping at the side of his bed. His heart almost stops. Minghao peels back the blanket and, after a moment, places a cool hand on Soonyoung’s cheek. Soonyoung’s cock jumps at his touch.

“You’re burning,” Minghao murmurs, sliding his hand into Soonyoung’s hair. “You want water?”

Soonyoung makes a low noise in the back of his throat and presses his head into Minghao’s hand. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, please,” Soonyoung says, throat dry.

They have bottled water already but Minghao still buys Soonyoung chilled water from the fridge. “You wanna watch a movie?”

Soonyoung peers out of his cocoon and watches Minghao absently browse the minibar card. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Soonyoung catapults himself across his bed and onto Minghao’s, stumbling across nothing to get to the bathroom. He vigorously washes and dries his hands as his dick flags. It’s been months since he invited him to watch a movie, and his drunk ass would much rather do that than jerk off. 

Minghao’s already in bed with the TV on when Soonyoung comes out of the bathroom. He slinks over to Minghao’s bed, but just as his knees hit the edge of the bed, he remembers how Minghao reacted the last time they touched, and dread fills his stomach. He lingers by the side of his bed.

Minghao doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say a thing, he simply lifts the covers.

Soonyoung’s heart swells too big too fast. He sticks himself to Minghao’s side and presses his forehead against the side of his ribs, feeling his heart overflow. Like Minghao is God’s gift to man and he can’t believe he gets to be this close to him.

Minghao presses the cold water bottle to his temple. Soonyoung tries to stay awake, if only to watch the cool light from the TV flicker across Minghao’s face, but he can’t maintain a train of thought for shit and dozes off.

In the morning, Soonyoung notices two things first: his hangover and bad breath are out to murder him. He can taste himself, how gross is that. Something furry is growing in his mouth and he needs to spray his mouth with insecticide, but even the thought of getting up feels insurmountable. He nestles closer to the curve of Minghao’s back and hides his face between his shoulder blades.

Consequently, his eyes fly open. 

With anyone else, it wouldn’t have been surprising. Soonyoung’s a pathetic drunk. Clingy and whiny, he’ll stick to anyone who’ll let him. Recently, Minghao hasn’t.

Soonyoung closes his eyes and curls in closer. He wants to enjoy this for as long as it’ll last, wants to get his fill before Minghao wakes up and leaves. The rise and fall of Minghao’s breathing lulls him back to sleep until, an hour later, his alarm rings. Minghao slowly stretches an arm across the bed and scoops up his phone from the nightstand, turning the alarm off.

After sharing a room for a year, Soonyoung knows Minghao’s habits pretty well. He doesn’t lay in bed with his phone in the morning, he prefers to do that at night. His eyes are too sensitive for screens in the morning, and so he doesn’t seriously check his phone until later in the day. The morning is reserved for breakfast over a book.

Today, Minghao stays in bed and scrolls through his phone. Soonyoung’s only vaguely aware of it. He can hear the faint clicks from the keyboard as he drifts between sleep and reality. Soonyoung doesn’t get up until he’s sure his eyes will hold their form without melting out of his head, and even then, the sunlight burns. He pokes his head out of the blankets, blinking groggily.

Minghao lays his phone face down on his chest. “Good morning,” he says, amused.

“Ugh.” Soonyoung retracts into the blankets.

They lay in silence until Minghao pats his head through the blankets. “You hungry? There’s a place that sells _cha siu bao_.”

Soonyoung perks up. “I love _cha siu bao._ ”

“Go shower, I’ll pack.”

Soonyoung watches Minghao get out of bed. The back of his shirt is wrinkled from sleep, and when he stretches his arms above his head, the waistband of his underwear peaks out from his pajama pants. He thinks, stupidly, that Minghao has good taste in underwear, before memories from yesterday strike him like a lightning bolt and he sits straight up.

He swipes the water off the nightstand and chugs it in the bathroom, then cranks up the shower dials until the bathroom fills with steam. Of all the terrible places to reflect, the shower must be the worst. Soonyoung’s a big believer in conservation and not jerking off to his friends.

And then they slept together afterward, how the hell did that happen? The first time in months Minghao’s willing to sustain physical contact for more than five seconds and he wasn’t sober to experience it? Did he even wash his hands before getting into bed with Minghao?

Soonyoung ducks his face into the water and tries to boil the guilt away. He remembers he did wash his hands, at least he has that going for him. He may have jerked off to Minghao but at least he washed his hands afterward. Oh, god.

His self-flagellation ends ten minutes later when he can’t ignore his stomach any longer. He drags his ass out of the shower, brushes his teeth, and quickly gets dressed. Minghao’s already done and waiting for him, glancing away from his phone when Soonyoung steps out of the bathroom.

He smiles, and Soonyoung’s stomach flips. It must be the guilt. “Ready?”

Soonyoung swallows. “Yeah.”

They get there just as the restaurant opens. They sit outside over three plates of _cha siu bao_ and a pot of _longjing_ Minghao pours for Soonyoung. His headache slowly relinquishes its iron grasp on his brain with every cup of tea he drinks.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Soonyoung says, hunched over his tea. “Hyung is eternally indebted to you.”

“Eternally?”

“Within reason.”

“Will you start cleaning the dorm?”

“What’d I just say?”

“Cleaning after yourself isn’t within reason?” Minghao says skeptically. “Then will you help me dispose of a body?”

“Oh yeah for sure, why didn’t you ask sooner?”

Minghao sputters in laughter and throws his head back. His eyes crinkle attractively. “You’re really something, hyung.”

Soonyoung hides his grin behind his cup.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a straight shot to Hanzhong from Linfen. Soonyoung sleeps through half of it and wakes up just as Weinan winks out from the rearview mirror. In the early afternoon, the sun hangs punishingly hot in the sky and leaves the car at two ends of an extreme. It’s too cold near the AC, but the window is searing hot. He has to remember to buy those driving gloves his grandma uses.

Minghao glances at him. “You awake?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Soonyoung stretches, popping something in his spine. “How are you okay? You drank more than I did.”

“Chinese hold their alcohol well.”

“Yeah right, Junhui says you’re a _zau gwai._ ”

Minghao laughs. “He’s talking shit again, don’t listen to him.”

“Okay.” Soonyoung settles back down in his seat, then whispers, “ _zau gwai._ ”

“You really think I won’t push you out of the car, huh?”

Soonyoung grins, squirming happily in his seat. Minghao’s back. “I can confidently say you won’t murder me.”

“I think I could pass it off as manslaughter,” Minghao mutters to himself. “Or maybe faulty manufacturing, the door came off at 90 mph—”

“The seatbelt too?”

“—the seatbelt too. I tried to save him, officer, really.”

“But you just really wanted to be the number one visual in the group.”

“Implying that I’m currently second?” Minghao snickers. “You flatter me and yourself." 

“Never mind, you’re no longer second. You’re back at the very end so now you really had no reason to murder me.”

“I think I can find a reason between now and the end of the week.”

“No thanks, you can drop me off here.” Soonyoung points a finger at the driver’s window. There’s nothing here except miles of non-arable land and mountain ranges. “Yeah, here’s fine.” 

They’re going ninety miles per hour, well above the seventy designated for this area. Minghao doesn’t even slow down. “Right here?”

“Yup.”

It’s the road trip madness setting in early. They stop to gas up, and because Soonyoung swears he’s losing feeling in his ass. He picks out a single driving glove that goes up to the armpit and wears it on his right arm while Minghao fills up the basket.

On the other side of the aisle, Minghao picks up a box of seaweed and Soonyoung ducks his head low to peer through the gap. He grins. “Hi.”

Minghao puts the box back, but not before Soonyoung catches him smiling.

“You don’t want it?” Soonyoung says, standing on the tips of his toes and craning his neck up over the aisle. 

“Do you want it?”

“Yes, please.”

Minghao drops it into the basket. Soonyoung peels off the glove and tries to put it in the basket, but Minghao sidesteps it. 

“Come on,” Soonyoung pouts, the glove hanging limply in his hand. “It’s ten won.” 

“You don’t need it, just wear a jacket on one arm.”

“I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“You can use mine,” Minghao says casually, plucking a bottle of chilled _wulong_ off the shelf and reading the nutrition label.

Soonyoung balls up the glove in his hands. “Oh.”

“If you want. You don’t have to.” The _wulong_ goes into the basket. He picks a bottle of green tea for Soonyoung, that goes into the basket too. 

“I do.”

Minghao smiles. Soonyoung’s fucking parched.

“Can I—” he clears his throat. “Can I get another bottle of tea?”

“Sure.”

They stand in front of the refrigerator aisle for a moment, enjoying the cool air. But a convenience store is no place to let down his guard with Minghao. Soonyoung slowly slips his hand under the basket handle and lifts it. He tries not to smile when Minghao’s grip gives away. Directly lifting the basket off Minghao only works if he’s distracted, and lo and behold, he wanders off and continues browsing.

Soonyoung quickly walks off to the register and pays. By the time Minghao realizes he’s gone, it’s already too late and he’s waiting by the door with a triumphant grin.

“Hyung,” Minghao says, the closest to pouting Soonyoung’s ever seen him. 

Soonyoung walks backwards out the door, pushing it open with an elbow. “It’s ok, let hyung pay for you. Don’t be so weird about it.”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“You won’t, I’m faster than you.”

Minghao laughs. “In what world?”

Soonyoung dangles the plastic bag. “You tell me.” 

 

 

 

 

 

That night, they arrive in Guangyuan. Soonyoung comes out of the bathroom with his hair dry and warm from the blow-dryer. Minghao is already in bed, like always, with his earphones in.

“Can I turn the lights off?”

Minghao glances up. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung turns off the overhead lights and crawls into bed. He turns off the lamp on the nightstand and the room plunges into darkness. The cool blue light from Minghao’s phone cuts through the darkness and shines soft on his face as he lays on his side facing Soonyoung, face pensive as he holds his phone sideways.

Soonyoung buries himself in the blankets but leaves his eyes uncovered. He doesn’t mean to, but he ends up watching Minghao. The movie must be good, he’s completely immersed.

Before Soonyoung knew it, he began watching Minghao on the regular. On the phone, eating, reading. Dancing. It’s his job to watch all the members in the choreography room where the ceilings span the entirety of the room and reveal everything. Hard to hide from a mirror that big, reflecting all your flaws back at you. Soonyoung found himself watching Minghao most out of all the members.

Here, in a dark room free of reflections, he can watch Minghao without anything reflecting back at him. It must be late when Minghao turns off his phone, takes out his earbuds, and lays them on the nightstand. Whatever glimmer of moonlight that squeezes past the thick weave of the curtain reflects off Minghao’s eyes.

It occurs to Soonyoung as a hammer to the chest—whatever reflection he sees, can see him.

Minghao curls his fingers around the edge of his blanket and slowly lifts it. He holds it just halfway up, a clear invitation.

Soonyoung sits up. He feels shy, suddenly, in a tank top and shorts. He’d wear a whole snow suit to bed if he could, but there’s no point in thinking about it. He’s already walking over. His knees dip along the edge of the bed, and Minghao draws him in with one steady arm. Soonyoung tucks his head under Minghao’s chin. This close, he can smell his lingering perfume warmed by the sun and his skin.

Soonyoung closes his eyes. 

 

 

 

 

 

“Fuck, marry, kill. Mingyu, Jihoon, Junhui.”

“I’m killing Junhui in any permutation of this question, let me just get that out of the way.” The traffic exiting Guangyuan is insane. In the last ten minutes, they’ve moved exactly zero inches. 

Soonyoung chokes on his drink, trying to laugh through it. “That’s cruel.” 

“What’s cruel is subjecting me to a permanent nuptial arrangement with Junhui. Where are you even getting these games from?” 

“Jisoo-hyung.”

Minghao hums. He rests his elbow against the window and lays his head in his hand. For a second, Soonyoung thinks Minghao’s seriously considering the question, but instead he says, “Why did you come here with me?”

Soonyoung’s palms immediately begin sweating. His first instinct is to lie. He didn’t want Minghao to be alone, but Minghao can be alone and not be lonely. In fact, he would have enjoyed this trip with or without Junhui’s company, and it might have been better if Soonyoung hadn’t come at all. He came for selfish reasons. He wanted to be here not for Minghao but for himself.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” Soonyoung says slowly, embarrassed with the truth of it. “Things feel different. I thought—I thought maybe this would be good.” He squeezes his hands into fists.

Minghao is silent for a long while, before he says, “Thank you.”

“It was for me. I was being selfish, so you don’t…you don’t have to say that.”

“Then thank you for being selfish,” Minghao laughs. Soonyoung can feel himself turning red. “It’s okay to be selfish with me, I’m selfish with you. Me buying you things? That’s selfish.”

“It is! Why are you so weird about it? Just let me pay sometimes.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it, my first instinct is to feed you. If you wanna fight, take it up with my lizard brain.”

They talk all the way to Chengdu. The heat of the summer sun imprints itself onto Soonyoung’s skin, and for a moment his heart feels full enough to burst.

The feeling follows him all the way to their hotel where Soonyoung presses his forehead between Minghao’s shoulder blades and he closes his eyes. He still thinks of Minghao at sixteen, wide-eyed and smaller than him, when in reality they’re about the same size now. He curls in closer, wanting to keep this feeling forever.

 

 

 

 

 

In Chengdu, the women are hot enough to melt the ice straight off Neptune. The women are hot anywhere, really, it’s just that in Seoul, Soonyoung has to keep his eyes straight. You never really know where Dispatch is lurking.

In Chengdu, he can look all he wants.

The night market is packed—red lanterns stream across the narrow paths flanked by food stalls and heavy smoke. On one side, the crowd bustles by him, and on the other he leans against Minghao, a solid force keeping him steady. Soft red light washes over Minghao’s face. Soonyoung feels ridiculously warm inside. It must be the weather, the sticky-sweet sugarcane juice Minghao buys him, or Minghao’s bare skin sticking against his own whenever the crowd pushes them together.

“Is there something you want to eat?” Minghao asks.

“I want squid.”

Minghao wrinkles his nose. “We’re eleven hours inland, you don’t want squid.”

Soonyoung ignores him and buys squid anyway. It only takes one bite for him to regret it. “Why didn’t you stop me?” he whines.

“Throw it away, let’s get lamb." 

Soonyoung does not, in fact, throw it away. He soldiers through it and eats the whole thing as Minghao watches. “My grandma didn’t raise me to be a coward.”

“I hope you remember these words when you’re excreting fluids from both ends.”

“Are you at least gonna hold back my hair as I throw up?” 

“Hell no,” Minghao says. He steps up to a Muslim stall and buys lamb skewers. “You implied my grandma raised me to be a coward.”

Soonyoung grins. “Implied? I’ll say it out loud if you want.”

“Buy your own lamb.” Minghao turns away with four skewers in his hand, weaving through the crowd. Soonyoung runs after him with a big smile on his face. 

Minghao dips into an alleyway and turns around to face Soonyoung when he rounds the corner, laughing. He throws out his arms and blocks Minghao’s only way out. “Hand them over.” 

“No,” Minghao says informally, stepping closer.

Soonyoung steps back. His heels run into the alley wall before his back does. “Say it formally, you punk.” He can hear the smile in his own voice.

Minghao’s smiling too as he comes in close, the smell of his perfume washing over Soonyoung. He says no formally, voice low and immeasurably fond, and slides a warm hand across Soonyoung’s jaw.

Minghao dips his head, and Soonyoung’s stomach bottoms out when he realizes what’s happening. He ducks away from Minghao and nearly trips over his own feet as he backs up.

“Holy shit,” he says. “Oh my god.”

The confusion on Minghao’s face only lasts a second before giving way to regret. “I’m so sorry hyung. I thought—”

Soonyoung doesn’t know what to do except keep backing up. Minghao doesn’t follow him. “I gotta—I gotta go.” He turns around, and fucking books it.

He makes his way through the crowd and all the way to the end of the night market where the crowd tapers off. When Soonyoung looks over his shoulder, Minghao is gone. Relief nearly chokes him. He sits on a bench and curls into himself, hiding, trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest.

Soonyoung should’ve known, he should’ve fucking known. It’s the food, it’s the tea, it’s Minghao’s love condensed. Was it so easy to miss?

Whatever Minghao does is hard to miss, he acts with the intention of being noticed, but Soonyoung knows him well enough by now to say he doesn’t show love for the sake of reward. Not for a myriad of reasons, not because he believes he should be owed anything for his love, and not when love poses a risk for him.

Still, a part of Soonyoung must’ve been aware. He always thought Minghao’s attention was a little strange, a little too intense to be normal. But he enjoyed it. Being the sole recipient of Minghao’s romantic affection feels like staring into the fucking sun, Soonyoung can see that now.

And ultimately, there must be something about him that strikes Minghao as a mirror reflection.

Soonyoung squeezes his arms around his head and forces himself to breathe. His phone buzzes once in his back pocket. He doesn’t check it until it buzzes a second time. It’s Minghao.

_I’m really sorry, hyung._

_Please go back to the hotel, I won’t be there._

As promised, back at the hotel, Minghao is nowhere to be seen. His luggage is still sitting on the hotel room couch, undisturbed. Soonyoung crawls into bed and for a long while does not move.

 

 

 

 

 

Two months ago, a male fan came to their fan meet. It brought an unimaginable sweat to Soonyoung’s hands but he smiled through it. That part was easy, they were all trained to smile even through their own murders, but afterwards, away from the cameras, he rushed to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water.

Minghao quietly entered the bathroom after him. He ducked and checked if the stalls were empty. “Hyung,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Soonyoung dried his face with a paper towel. Something ugly was welling up inside him, eating him alive. “Don’t you think male fans are kind of gross?” he said, laughing humorlessly.

Through the mirror, Soonyoung could see Minghao frowning. “How?”

“That kind of attention, you should only give it to women. It’s gross.”

Minghao furrowed his brows. “Hyung.”

“What? We’re men, we should act like it." 

That was what did it. Minghao’s face, so normally open to him, flew shut. He didn’t say a word as he left the bathroom.

 

 

 

 

 

Some things aren’t meant to be saved for people. Places are more prudent.

Soonyoung stares up at his ceiling and thinks of his first girlfriend. It felt good, right? When the girlish curve of her waist accepted his palm like completing a chain link sequence, solid in its conviction and simplicity. Her mouth was soft and her lip gloss stuck against his skin. He closed his eyes and let it happen. He gave it up to a girl and pretended like he wasn’t saving it for someone else.

He doesn’t think of his first girlfriend often. He can’t remember her face clearly, only that she kept the long waterfall of her hair tucked behind a delicate pierced ear, and she was the sharpest in their class. Things didn’t end well with her. After they had sex, Soonyoung couldn’t bear the thought of touching her. He couldn’t even be near her.

Soonyoung can’t even remember the last time he liked someone. It isn’t relevant to his life anymore. Ever since he joined the industry, all his feelings of romantic love and lust got buried beneath a salt deposit of exhaustion and work. Sometimes he thinks nothing resembling life is capable of growing inside him except exhaustion.

But that’s the thing. It isn’t true, and he knows it. There are days when he wrestles with the unshakeable feeling of something being _wrong_ with him, but those are the days he spends with Minghao, drinking tea and talking. Minghao stands out in his mind like his own traitorous heart leaping out of his chest, jumping for joy.

Soonyoung sits up as the rising sun turns the whole room blue. He texts Minghao and leaves the phone on the nightstand while he showers. He brushes his teeth too. He takes his time and avoids looking at himself in the mirror. Minghao rings the doorbell just as he finishes brushing his teeth.

Self-consciously, Soonyoung twists the hem of his shirt around his fingers and opens the door.

“I’m really sorry,” Minghao says immediately. He still smells like the smoke from the night market. “I’ll drop you off at the airport and drive back to Beijing myself.”

Soonyoung quietly shuts the door behind him. “Hold on,” he says. “Just—give me a second.”

Minghao fidgets. He hasn’t fidgeted since he turned twenty. Soonyoung keeps his back against the door and takes a deep breath.

“You like me?”

Minghao winces. “Yeah.”

“You thought I liked you." 

“Yeah. I did." 

Soonyoung walks forward. Minghao’s eyes don’t leave him, not for a second, he doesn’t even blink when they’re toe-to-toe. Doesn’t blink when Soonyoung cups the side of his face, only wraps his fingers around Soonyoung’s wrist, eyes wide. 

He thinks of all the girls he’s ever kissed and how he never felt even a portion of what he feels for Minghao, like he might explode from sheer proximity. From fear and from—something else. Something more.

Soonyoung takes the leap and kisses him. Minghao’s mouth is cold from the morning. He laces their fingers together, holding Minghao’s hand tight, and tries to convey his feelings in this one action. It’s impossible, he knows that. But he tries.

When he backs away, Minghao finally blinks.

“I like you,” Soonyoung says, breathlessly. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

Minghao quietly looks down at their hands. The silence scares the shit out of Soonyoung, but he’s done running. He’s here, now.

“It’s okay. I understand,” Minghao says slowly, slightly squeezing Soonyoung’s hand.

“Still. I was cruel to you.”

“No.” Minghao bumps their foreheads together and closes his eyes. “You didn’t know.”

They stand quietly together until Soonyoung shifts restlessly. “Should we talk about it later? I think we’re both tired.”

“Yeah.” Minghao kisses Soonyoung’s cheek and it nearly gives him an aneurysm. “Let’s sleep.”

Soonyoung leads Minghao to bed with a loose hand, afraid Minghao might want that room to leave. Holding onto someone with a firm hand has never been his style. He hadn’t liked it when his girlfriend held onto him tightly, had hated it when she held his face firmly between her hands and kissed him. He wants to give Minghao the room to leave if he wants it.

But Minghao follows him step-for-step until they reach the bed. Soonyoung lays down first and Minghao tucks his head under his chin. It must be a declaration of love, that he’s willing to sleep with someone who smells like the night market. He lays a hand on the small of Minghao’s back and feels, gradually, the claw of his heart creak open.

By the time they wake up, the sun already made a half arc across the sky. Soonyoung groggily lifts himself up on an elbow and grabs his phone off the nightstand to check the time. It’s one in the afternoon.

Beside him, Minghao makes a displeased noise. He’s still asleep. When Soonyoung looks over, his heart kicks. It’s been awhile since he last saw Minghao with his guard lowered.

Soonyoung smooths his hand across Minghao’s cheek and feels how warm he is. The room’s hot as hell, the sun’s on the warpath and their hotel room is right in the middle of it. He slides out of Minghao’s arms and messes around with the air conditioner until it turns on. He kneels to cool his face in the air, feeling smug with himself. Last time they were in Beijing, he only recognized the characters for ON/OFF and nearly broke the air conditioner.

Checkout is in an hour. Soonyoung packs their luggage and lets Minghao sleep until the last moment, waking him up a quarter before two.

“You should shower,” Soonyoung says, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “We have to check out in fifteen minutes.”

Minghao slowly sits up. His under eyes are slightly swollen from sleep-deprivation. “Okay.”

He showers quickly, using the last few minutes before checkout to finish moisturizing and packing. He zips up his baggage and slings it over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

If there’s ever a way to summarize this trip, it’s getting to know Minghao over food and the road. Soonyoung already knew him well, but this is perceptively different.

The sun glints off Minghao’s sunglasses. He turns his head over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking lot and gets them out onto the main road. Beijing is a twenty-hour ride away. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I want to,” Soonyoung says, desperate. “I just—I don’t know how to, but I want to.”

“Then when you’re ready, you can tell me.”

“But isn’t it worrying for you? How can you be with me unless you know what I’m thinking? What if I end up—” Soonyoung bites his lip. What if he can’t handle this?

Minghao speaks softly as if he’s approaching a spooked thing. “I don’t need a guarantee, hyung. It’s okay.”

Soonyoung fidgets in his seat. He’s glad Minghao’s driving, he doesn’t think he could handle being stared at right now.

“And we don’t have to know everything about each other, that’s something you learn slowly. What’s most important is that you’re comfortable." 

Minghao opens his hand across the center console and Soonyoung takes it, absently running his thumb along the edges of Minghao’s rings. “Okay,” he says, the pit of his stomach fluttering. “I got it.”

  

 

 

 

 

Their last night in China, they have dinner in Xi’an. The  _paomo_ is so good it almost brings Soonyoung to tears. 

“Let’s go to Guangzhou next time,” Minghao says, placing his hand on the steel teapot. “Then you’ll really cry.” 

Soonyoung glances around them. They’re seated at the very corner of the restaurant, away from the bustle centered around the main tables. He places his hand over Minghao’s and stops him from lifting the teapot, taking the pot himself and filling Minghao’s teacup first.

Without looking, he can feel Minghao smiling at him as he taps two slender fingers on the table.

There’s not much to do after that but sleep. They have to make it to Beijing in the next seventeen hours if they want to catch their flight back to Seoul on time, giving them only a couple hours to sleep before the eleven-hour drive straight to the airport.

At the hotel, Minghao lays in bed scrolling through his phone. Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom with his hair slightly damp from the shower and crawls into Minghao’s bed, hooking his arms around his waist before he can even think about it. Minghao absently runs a hand through Soonyoung’s hair and rubs his thumb along the back of his ear.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Soonyoung says, turning onto his back.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t even have a license in Korea, hyung.”

“Technically no.” 

Minghao puts down his phone. “Technically—you know there’s no in between, right? Either you have one or you don’t.”

“Yeah, but I’d be willing to break the law for you.”

“How romantic of you.”   

“Don’t get crazy with it, let’s stick to petty crimes.”

“Just two days ago you said you’d help me dispose of a body,” Minghao says as he pinches Soonyoung’s cheek. “You’re about to go back on your word?”

“Do you only like me cause you think I’ll help you hide a body? Because we gotta talk about that.”

 “I mean, there are other reasons but that’s pretty much it.” 

“Jesus,” Soonyoung says, grinning like an idiot. He reaches up and curls a hand around the back of Minghao’s neck, pulling him in.

Minghao leans in easy as anything, allowing himself to be led. It’s some real Pavlovian shit, the way Soonyoung’s brain reacts to Minghao’s perfume, like a shot of dopamine straight to the brain. He’s gonna start associating way more than just pleasant anxiety with Minghao’s perfume after this, it’s gonna suck when he pops one in the middle of choreography rehearsal just because Minghao walks by.

“How do you feel?” Minghao asks, pulling away slightly.

Soonyoung sits up to face him completely. He can’t help but smile. “Good.”

This time, Minghao is the one to initiate it. He’s slow about it, placing his fingers right below Soonyoung’s jaw where his pulse hammers, and brings him in close. He kisses slowly and sweetly, like this is something to be savored. Soonyoung should’ve known he’d be like this.

Minghao indulges himself every chance he gets. He consumes insatiably and attentively, doesn’t matter what it is. Wine, food, art. After a matter, Soonyoung himself. The thought makes him flush, he swears he can feel his pulse beneath his tongue. Well, since his heart is about to give out anyway, he might as well go all the way. He can’t let people know he died a bitch.

Soonyoung moves his hand from the back of Minghao’s neck to his jaw as he opens his mouth, stomach fluttering when Minghao does the same, opening up to him, licking into his mouth.

The feel of Minghao’s tongue gets him instantaneously hard, like fucking magic. He can count everybody he’s ever made out with on one hand, and he’s never gotten hard with any of them. Not like this. Soonyoung groans softly as Minghao lightly sucks on his tongue, one hand pressed against Soonyoung’s ribs right where they flare out into his diaphragm.

He arches his back a little, stretching out the dull ache in his spine from sitting in the car for too long. Minghao takes the opportunity to kiss Soonyoung’s chin, his throat. Soonyoung curls his fingers into Minghao’s shoulder.

“What do you want, hyung?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, hesitating.

Minghao barely narrows his eyes. It’s so quick Soonyoung nearly misses it. “Be selfish. I’m here for you, let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Soonyoung says slowly, shyly. “Will you suck my cock?”

 Minghao smiles at him and cranes his neck to kiss him on the cheek. “Sure. What else do you want?”

Soonyoung’s brain short-circuits. He wasn’t aware he could have two things at once. “Will you—uhm. Fuck.”

“It’s okay. Why don’t you show me instead?”

Soonyoung grasps at the hem of Minghao’s shirt and lifts it slightly. He gets the idea and starts to pull off his shirt.

Minghao’s a little bigger than him now and definitely stronger. Soonyoung hardly has the opportunity to appreciate it, and this isn’t an opportunity either when his brain is half-melted like candle wax caving in at the heat of a flame. He needs to be five feet away from Minghao to fully appreciate how unbelievable he is.

Minghao’s a hard gainer but hits the gym regularly and watches his diet, and it’s paying off. He’s fucking toned, all lean whipcord muscle. All of Soonyoung’s muscles are in his thighs. It’s getting hard to find pants that fit, he tries to think of a few places he could go if only to ground himself. He tries to think of Minghao’s tremendous mistake last week that nearly ruined his relationship with Mingyu: he tore off the sleeves of a 650-thousand won Gucci T-shirt.

Minghao drops his shirt on the floor and shakes out his hair. “I think the same about you,” he says, looking pleased with himself. “That you’re unbelievable.”

“Oh.” It takes a second to click, like spinning a flint wheel, clicking it twice, and the flame coming on hot. His face warms. “You like me.”

Minghao smiles demurely. “More than like.”

Soonyoung’s heart leaps. “I’m going into cardiac arrest.”

“Are you really?”

“No, but please get me off before I do.”

Minghao laughs. And then he leans in close, his eyes big and strangely bright in the dark. His voice in Mandarin is nothing like it is in Korean. He plays cute in Korean, and when he asks to kiss Soonyoung in Mandarin, he isn’t playing around at all.

Well, Soonyoung’s done playing too. He holds the back of Minghao’s neck and kisses him before Minghao’s moving down, licking the hollow of Soonyoung’s throat. He goes all the way down to Soonyoung’s hips and drags his teeth down the tender flesh of his stomach. The skin there tenses, jumps, and Soonyoung throws both arms over his eyes.

He can feel Minghao’s laughter fan out over his skin. “You should keep your eyes open for this,” Minghao says as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Soonyoung’s sweats.

Soonyoung peeks out beneath his arms. Minghao glances up at him, amused. He slowly pulls down Soonyoung’s sweats and underwear, freeing his dick. He presses a wet kiss to the crown and slides his hand up Soonyoung’s groin to frame his dick in the soft web between his thumb and index finger. He takes the head of Soonyoung’s cock into his mouth and lets it slide past his tongue while hollowing out his cheeks. Even though Soonyoung’s back to hiding his face behind his arms, he knows Minghao’s staring at him, he can feel that shit from a mile away.

With every inch Minghao swallows down, Soonyoung’s volume increases. Minghao pops off his dick and lazily jerks him off, the rings on his left hand digging into his cock.

Soonyoung groans. The sensation confuses the fuck out of him. Should he fuck up into it or move his hips away? There’s nothing he can do but hide his face. Minghao laughs.

“You like my rings." 

“Shut up.”

“Don’t hide from me, hyung,” Minghao murmurs against his cock, kissing the length of it.

“I’m not hiding,” Soonyoung croaks. Maybe a little bit, but more than that he just doesn’t want to prematurely bust a nut, wants to drag this out for as long as he can.

“Then let me look at you.”

Soonyoung takes two deep breaths. At the end of the second breath, Minghao takes him deeper than before, and Soonyoung pries his arms away from his face. He looks at Minghao with wide eyes and bunches up his shirt in his hands.

The corner of Minghao’s mouth twitches. It must be a reward for looking at him, really. Minghao swallows him down further until the tip of his cock nestles against his throat, humming his approval.

“One more thing,” Soonyoung gasps, trying his best not to fuck up into Minghao's mouth. “Can I have one more thing?”

Minghao drags his mouth off his cock. “Of course, whatever you want.”

Soonyoung brings a hand past his balls and presses his fingers against his asshole. He can feel how wet it is from Minghao’s salvia sliding down his perineum.

“Oh,” Minghao says. “You want me to finger you?”

Soonyoung flushes from his face to his fucking stomach.

“Yes or no, hyung.”

“Yes,” he says. “Please.”

“If you want to stop, tell me, okay?” Minghao says.

Soonyoung nods.

Minghao removes the rings on his right hand and places them on the bed before sucking on his fingers. He has nice hands. If Soonyoung’s being completely honest, he’s imagined them on him, but not like this. No one’s ever touched him like this before.

He doesn’t—he doesn’t think he had the imagination for this, how Minghao gets his fingers nice and wet and carefully slides one finger into him. He squirms, burning red, when Minghao gently tugs and massages his balls. He works in another finger while sucking on one ball, pressing his thumb right against Soonyoung’s perineum.

“Holy shit,” he says, squeezing his shirt. “Holy shit.”

Minghao keeps his eyes on Soonyoung. From this angle, he looks fucking demonic. He dribbles a line of spit onto his fingers and fucks it into Soonyoung. The sound is obscene, the wet squelch of it goes right to his dick.

“Good?”

“More,” Soonyoung begs. “Please, more.”

Minghao kisses Soonyoung’s hip and gets to fucking him properly. He settles back on his heels and keeps his hand on the upstroke each time he sinks his fingers back into Soonyoung, stroking him tight with his thumb pressed right beneath his frenulum.

Soonyoung wants it harder. He wants it anyway he can get it—on the bed, on his knees, up against the wall; he wants it until he can’t fucking breathe. But it lasts longer like this, a slow eternity as his orgasm builds and Minghao’s attention pins him down, forcing a flush out of him. Minghao’s hot as hell on a normal day, but like this, in the semi-darkness where the brightest part of him is the moonlight glinting off his earrings, his gold chain, and _fuck,_ the pre-cum slicking his rings, the sight alone can make him cum.

“Let go,” Soonyoung gasps, twisting away.

Minghao’s feeling it too, there’s a low flush across his cheeks. He tightens his fingers into a circle around the base of Soonyoung’s cock. “You’re cute, hyung.”

Je- _sus._ Soonyoung unconsciously clenches around Minghao’s fingers. He keeps fucking Soonyoung through his cresting orgasm, keeping steady pressure around the base of his cock. When his orgasm simmers down, Minghao starts slowly stroking his cock again, from root to tip. Soonyoung follows the movement of his fist with his hips, gasping low and broken. Just like that, his orgasm is back to boiling over.

Minghao must know, because he ducks his head and slides Soonyoung’s cock past the flex of his tongue until the head of his dick is nestled in his throat. He grinds his fingers deep inside Soonyoung and drags them out slowly, fucking them back in hard.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung yelps, twisting his hand into the sheets. “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

Minghao sucks a ball into his mouth and jerks Soonyoung off tight while pounding his fingers in and out of him, fucking a bone shattering wail out of him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he cries, arching hard up into Minghao’s hand.

Cum dribbles down Minghao’s hand. He jerks Soonyoung off through his orgasm, slowly fucking his fingers in and out until Soonyoung can’t take it anymore and squirms away from sensitivity. Minghao licks the cum off Soonyoung’s belly. He squirms from that too, but Minghao holds his hips down and licks him clean.

It takes a second before Soonyoung can formulate a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. “Can I do something for you?” he asks, still gripping the sheets.

Minghao hums. “Later. For now, rest.”

“Are you sure?”

He rises off the bed and kisses Soonyoung’s cheek, lingering there for a second with his eyes closed. “Yes,” he says. “Hold on, let me get a towel.”

Minghao wipes off the dried salvia and cum from Soonyoung’s stomach and thighs with a wet towel. The post-orgasm lethargy sets in quick, the pleasant ache in Soonyoung’s lower body leaves him exhausted.

“Sleep,” Minghao says. “I’m gonna shower.”

Soonyoung falls asleep to the sound of the shower running. By the time their alarm rings four hours later, his face is mashed into Minghao’s collarbone, and they only have thirteen hours to catch their flight.

Soonyoung squints at the glaring phone screen and turns the alarm off. He has two unread messages from Hansol, received an hour ago. It’s his travel playlist arriving six days late. Soonyoung rolls his eyes, but all is forgiven when he reads his next text.

 _Get home safely,_ it reads. _We miss you._

Everybody’s home except for them. They’re cutting it close, arriving just a day before preparations for the next album cycles in. For now, Soonyoung pretends there’s no work to be done. He wraps his arms around Minghao’s waist and rests for a little while longer.


End file.
